Here’s a fun pattern (psychology majors, get ready to diagnose me): for two consecutive years, I have been asked out on Valentine’s Day dates by strangers at my gym. Both times, I have said yes, clearly feeling a small spark of excitement at the unknown. Each year, I gave them my number, and I told them that I was “so, so excited.” I wasn’t lying, either. Both times, I canceled.
Hypothetically, I should have learned something by year two.
Last year, I was kind and gentle with myself after canceling. I’d admittedly been traumatized by my last relationship and still feeling like emotional roadkill. When I backed out of my Valentine’s plans with Gym Boy #1, I pointed to bad memories. “I’m scared of commitment,” I told my friends, who nodded sympathetically. “I’m just protecting myself from old patterns,” I said. I sounded oh-so self-aware and responsible.
Then, this year happened. Different guy, same shit—we ran into each other at the gym, made a few jokes. As if fate were repeating itself, he asked me on a date the very next week. But, weirdly, when he asked me out, he also asked whether my first impression of him was friend or date material. I responded, “Actually… I’m not sure.” So I guess I didn’t really lead him on. Still, I said yes to the date. I bought a new shirt and straightened my hair. He picked a restaurant and said he’d pick me up at 5 p.m. Then, morning of, I canceled.
This time, I didn’t claim that trauma excuse. I’d done the work. I’d journaled. I’d taken up meditating. I’d become the person who uses “self-care” and “boundaries” in their everyday vocabulary. So, what was my problem?
And then it hit me: I do not have commitment issues, and I do not have anti-romance issues. I have a Valentine’s Day issue.
Because here’s the interesting thing about the long-beloved Valentine’s Day: it is not a holiday. It is a vacuous performance. It is the day couples I have never seen together before show up at the gym in matching red workout clothes. It is the day that guys who have hit on me in frat basements post their girlfriends on their Instagram stories (happy two years, I guess?). It is the only day of the year where you are socially required to have your feelings and future plans figured out, wrapped in a neat bowtie, and presented with a prix fixe menu. It’s romance with a deadline. It’s a date with a mandatory agenda.
I am scared of being forced to sit with a rando for over an hour at an overpriced Italian restaurant with every other couple looking disgustingly certain that their date is the one they dream of getting down on one knee and pulling out a wedding ring. Valentine’s Day doesn’t ask, “Do you want to hang out and see how things go?” It demands, “I AM ABSOLUTELY IN LOVE WITH YOU—ARE WE AGREED?”
And listen, maybe Gym Boy #2 (hell, even #1) would have been my soulmate! Probably not. But, maybe. Maybe, come March, I would have been sending him Instagram reels and arguing about whether Sriracha or Cholula is the better hot sauce. But Valentine’s Day isn’t a day meant for “maybes.” It wants declarations. It asks for roses and reservations and certainty condensed into a 24-hour pressure cooker. The truth is, I canceled both dates for the same reason: I don’t like to cosplay as someone in a relationship and dress up uncertainty in red lipstick, pretending I’m emotionally invested in someone I have spoken to twice. I didn’t want to be cornered into kissing someone at the end of the date just because it’s February 14th.
I’m not anti-romance. I’m anti-Hallmark-industrial-complex. I’d rather have a first date which is rescheduled and chaotic, my hair thrown up in a clawclip while I wear a Billy Joel T-shirt instead of a frilly new blouse. I want early dating to be messy and low-stakes—my parents’ love story only came about after my dad slept through their first date and showed up 24-hours after their planned dinner. My mom got back at him by bringing her entire friend group to their re-do first-date. This is the type of dating I support, not some pre-planned Valentine’s Day bouquet and tuxedo arrival. I do not regret canceling those dates, because the second I said yes, I trapped myself in Valentine’s Day’s version of The Hunger Games: only couples who are 100% sure they are soulmates survive, and everyone else gets eliminated by self-doubt. If you also canceled Valentine’s Day plans, don’t spiral. It’s not you. It’s the holiday.
Next time someone asks me out for Valentine’s Day, I’m going to smile, thank them, and suggest we do brunch on February 15th instead. That is when the chocolate goes on sale, the restaurants don’t require reservations, and expectations no longer exist.
